Under the Red Hood
by iCe
Summary: Do not go into the woods, do not go when the moon is full and the wolf howls, hiding in the thicket. Having been under Wolf's Night for more than ten generations, Dean trained under the Order of the Hunters to slay the wolf that has been taking the children from Chesterford. Donning his red hood, he seeks out this monster to make Silver Ash safe again.
1. Prologue: Silver Ash Covert

_To my giftee, Noxlee. __I hope you have fun reading as I had writing. I hope it satisfies._

_Also... to foxymoley, who introduced me to Discord. My writing would not have improved and I would not have been able to join this exchange without you._

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_ Acknowledgments: _

This isn't a big bang, but I always have a tremendous amount of help from people in the fandom when writing. So thanks always to my alpha reader Captainhetarede; my beta readers MaggieMaybe160 and Castiel's Carma. And the final read-through of heylittleangel.

I also used some German here so shout out goes to Alessariel and Jak_the_ATAT for the input. (As well as fighting scene advise). Thanks to Discord always for the times when I need a little writing boost, and for questions that go: how the heck is this gonna be a Destiel story with a Red riding hood premise? XD

Finally... a big shout out to Mods TobytheWise and JJ for setting up such a nice and beautiful exchange. Don't forget to check out the rest of the Fairytales from the PB exchange. Just in time for my birthday too! So I got one of the best birthday gifts ever: A fanfic of my favorite couple.

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_Prologue - Silver Ash Covert_

_Do not go into the woods,_ the grandmothers say, _do not go when the moon is full and the wolf howls, hiding in the thicket. _

The elders warned the children. Still, youngsters, as was their nature, would not heed the warnings and play there. They tested the limits of the woodlands around their little village, Chesterford. Their grieving mothers came to the barony of Silver Ash Covert, held by the House of Winchester, who protected their land. They petitioned help from the Order of the Hunters or the Men of Letters, and the barony dutifully sent out a search party, only to return empty-handed. What their wolf had gobbled down, did not turn back up.

And they tried hunting the wolf over the years. Both the Hunters and the Men of Letters had killed werewolves that prowled the night, but there were still children missing every two decades.

Sam and Dean Winchester were very small when the children of their generation were taken; Dean was barely five summers. Their parents had gone with the search party and found a single girl. The wolf had wounded her, and the markings on her wrists looked like marks from claws, scraped raw against her arms. She was frightened, spoke a different language, and they could only understand a few words. But for the first time, they learned that it was not a wolf they sought, but a giant bird. Around the girl, they had found feathers—dark as the night sky, but with a blue undertone—and crushed yarrow surrounding them.

That summer, it took no other child, but the village slew no large birds either. The "wolf" in Silver Ash Covert was not literally a wolf, but the legend surrounding the woods had been there for centuries so the name stuck.

As the baron's heir, Dean had become obsessed with the tale. When he was old enough to be apprenticed by the hunters, he learned things specifically to fight winged creatures.

His mother, who was a warrior before she settled down in the village and ordained by the Order of the Hunters, worried for her son's obsession, but they both noticed that the monster in the woods only took young children and only during the cycle of twenty years. His father, a Man of Letters through his father's side, armed him with all the knowledge he could give. Dean had vowed that he would end the centuries-old beast that was preying on Chesterford's youth, and his parents knew that he was stubborn enough to succeed.

Dean prepared what he could to hunt the wild beast. He learned traps and trained with the hunters, just as his brother studied with the Men of Letters. Nightly, Dean made his rounds through the woods, wearing a red hood and searched for the monster.

Dean had found the hood among the things locked up in grandpa Henry's chest. The old runes had "_Hainariks"_ stitched on the cloak, and his father had told him once that it meant "ruler of the home." Old grandpa Henry was a ruler of more than a home; he hadn't been the one to found Chesterford, but he'd definitely been a great mage in his time.

The cloak was made of a deep red velvet to ward off the cold, with golden embroidery on its inner lining. Whoever made it heaped all the runes of protection that could be afforded a piece of cloth on it. He supposed grandpa Henry could have used it when he had been out adventuring during his time in the Men of Letters.

Dean used it because, with the hood up, it hid his chestnut brown hair when he was out hunting and the red was so deep, it was almost black, which afforded him some concealment under the night sky. Plus, all the runes of protection were great, too. It helped that it hid all sorts of weapons effectively: a bone knife at Dean's hip and a crossbow at his back.

And so, Dean hunted the beast in its forest with the hope that he would succeed where many had failed: killing the creature that has taken so many of their children.


	2. Chapter 1: The Hunt

**Chapter One - The Hunt**

On Dean's twenty-fourth spring, he does his rounds in the nearby woods, noting his untouched devil's trap and various sigils on the forest floor. A lone wolf howls to the moon just as he spots a single glittering black feather near one of his traps.

He circles the trap, noting that it isn't broken but some sort of skirmish happened in its vicinity. The hood thrums with the remnants of magic that was used in the area, and there are signs of heavy disturbance in the forest floor. Its first layer of leaf litter swept aside in some places like a howling wind has blown them away, and in others, burned to a charred black to show the soil underneath. In the middle of the circle, another lone black feather, singed at the edges.

Dean picks it up, holding it to the light of the fading moon and frowns, not for the first time wondering: a monster with a feather? He's been thinking about the lore recently and harpies are a thing. They were also vicious, cruel and violent. That young girl they had saved—they learned her name is Katja—was lucky to have been saved with just the claw marks.

Katja is around Dean's age, but they do not see each other often. She grew up to become solitary. Dean tries to speak to her about what she remembered from the attack from her youth, but she was still learning the local language back then. Later on, she refused, saying she retained no memories before her rescue.

Dean stows the feather in one of the cloak's inner pockets, to work on it in the morning.

Dean looks up again to check the moon's position and heads back. Any later and the moon wouldn't offer enough light to investigate anyway, and he'll be forced to use lamp light or mage light, and he wasn't enough of a mage to make one.

What is worrisome: the last time the village saw feathers like this in the surrounding woods, children disappeared. And now, history is repeating itself. There are no missing children yet, but the feathers are foreboding. Dean supposes this monster has nothing but time on its hands and is right on time: it is almost the twentieth anniversary of the year they saved that girl from the forest.

oOo

Dean usually secures his traps in the morning after a work out with the hunters. He then attends various engagements that his mother foists upon him during the day, followed by shadowing his father, meeting with the villagers to see to their crops and help with their roofs. It is during one such trip that Dean and the stranger cross paths.

Dean notices him in the yarrow field at the border of the Silver Ash Covert. He is kneeling and touching the first flowers of the plant, the yellow clusters bright as they cover the ground with its cheerful color. It is so widespread that even between the ash trees, herbalists would be able to spot a few peeking from the foliage to get light from the break.

The stranger is wearing a simple hooded robe that marks him as a mage, tan and fitted slightly large over his lithe frame. It is hiding the man's features from Dean.

Dean has been training as a hunter and knows a couple of spells besides that. He knows stealth, but somehow, he must have tipped the stranger off. One moment the man is admiring the flowers, the next he is standing rigidly, on guard, looking at Dean.

"Harvesting for your medicine chest?" Dean asks conversationally.

The man pauses and removes his hood, revealing dark brown hair and intense blue eyes under the sunlight. He tilts his head to the side before nodding to the closed blooms.

"Yarrow is best harvested in summer when they are open, not during spring when they've just sprouted." The stranger's tone is surprisingly low and gruff for his stature.

"Wow, that's a deep voice you have there," Dean comments offhandedly before silently berating himself over commenting on the man's voice. _Really? There are more important matters. What is he doing in the middle of the forest, for one?_

The man grimaces before nodding. "Spellwork has taken its toll on my vocal cords. Among other things."

"You're a ways off the main road," Dean says helpfully, pointing towards the road. "There's nothing but ash trees here."

"And yarrow."

They regard each other in silence. The weight of the other man's stare is heavy and Dean wonders if the man will introduce himself, but the stranger merely nods at Dean and turns back to the thicket.

"Hey, it's the year when the wolf takes. You shouldn't be out here alone," Dean advises.

The man cocks his head to the side. "I'll be sure to remember that. Thank you," he replies before disappearing into the thick grove.

oOo

Dean would have missed it if the moon wasn't full and the light hadn't filtered between a break in the tree-line. The creature is unnaturally still in the night, its feathers gleaming a dark black in the moonlight. It has the head of an eagle and a shaggy crest with black and white plumage. Its face is black with a dusky, creamy nape that trails to black wings.

Dean eyes the muscular forelegs which became claws after the joint. Its hind legs are that of a lion's with a large tail. _Griffin,_ his instincts identify. When he finally finds its eyes, Dean stills. The blues are bright and latched onto him. Based on eagles, this monster has a visual acuity that surpasses Dean's. If they start a fight now, he will not win. Not at night, and definitely not in the forest against a griffin.

There hasn't been a sighting of a griffin since before Chesterford was established. He can't wrap his mind around the fact that it is a griffin that has been stealing their children for so long, but the evidence speaks for itself.

Dean moves carefully, his hand reaches for his sword, as he keeps his eyes on the griffin. The cloak gives him some protection, but it isn't going to suddenly give him magic. Dean slowly unsheaths his sword, which the griffin takes objection to. The eagle wings flare out for the first time and—_Wolf's teeth!_—the wingspan alone is thrice Dean's entire height.

The forest gives Dean an advantage. With how the trees are together, the griffin can't fully open its wings. It leaps and Dean prepares himself for the impact of those claws, as he draws his word to its full length and braces himself.

But instead of landing, the griffin's hind legs launch the creature into the air and it starts flying away from Dean. It gives two flaps of its powerful wings, disturbing the leaves of the forest floor, then glides towards the mountains of the North.

_Damn it! _Dean curses, momentarily stunned before he follows, switching his sword for a crossbow. Dean nocks an arrow while he runs and fires towards the griffin, barely clipping the beast's back, but not even slowing it. The thing is _fast_. Faster than Dean expects. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought the wolf in their forest was an actual griffin. Their only encounters with griffins were ingredients in the Men of Letters storeroom when they needed them. At least, Dean was fairly sure there were griffin feathers in the Men of Letters' ingredient cupboard.

_Wolf take it! _Gritting his teeth, Dean cuts to the left and sprints, diving for cover through the felled trees and tripping over shrubs. His eyes widen. He sees it before he reaches it, yet still nearly topples off the edge of a deep ravine. Spinning, Dean's braces himself when he realizes the griffin is almost on top of him. He prepares for the impact, with arms above his head and a wide base. Instead, the griffin practically tears his arm off. Straightening, the griffin has taken his bow. "You mangy little—!" Dean makes an attempt to grab the bow back as the griffin tosses it into the chasm. The only thing Dean seizes is thin air.

The movement unbalances Dean enough that he plunges through the gorge.

Another high-pitched whistle sounds in the night, followed by an inflection that Dean creatively substitutes for cursing. It doesn't matter though, because Dean is _falling._ He gives a startled yell as he tries to grasp for anything that he can clutch at and a deadly calm washes over. In those few desperate moments, trying to reach for something to break his fall, Dean has accepted that he might die here, in his foolish quest.

Claws grasping at his arm breaks the thought, the griffin snatching him out of mid-air. If there is one thing half raptor half mountain cats are good for, it is getting their prey!

Dean curses up a storm as he struggles, not knowing if dying by plunging into the abyss is a better fate than being slashed to death by talons before being picked clean.

The griffin tosses him in the air. It causes Dean to yelp, both with sheer terror and with dizziness. The griffin passes him from claw to claw, until Dean realizes, the creature is doing it to gain a better _grip._ Its talons grasp both of his arms. With the size of the claw, Dean is sure it can break his arm, and crush his skull.

The added weight doesn't seem to slow the griffin down, although Dean's movements are unbalancing the creature enough that they almost soar through several trees. Once they land, they tumble around. The griffin's wings flare wide as they roll in the dirt, while the griffin's hind paws twist to get a better crouch.

A shooting pain explodes from Dean's shoulder when they hit the ground. He notices heat radiating from the area and he knows that the shoulder is definitely either broken or dislocated. He feels the blood rush from his face to fill up the shoulder before he finally loses consciousness due to the pain.


	3. Chapter 2: The Mage

**Chapter Two - The Mage**

Dean stirs from the agony of his shoulder, sitting up abruptly, guarded. Light is filtering through the windows, signifying daybreak. He glances around, noting that he is in a single room house, with wooden planks for the floor. The cottage is spacious but bare. It can easily fit several more tables and beds in it, but contains none besides the one he is now occupying. Towards the center of the cabin is a pit that extends to the earth, surrounded with stones where a fire burns. On top of the firepit hangs a black cauldron where something, preferably not children, is brewing.

Near the cauldron, there is a space that resembles the Men of Letters' spell workstation, complete with various jars filled with ingredients useful for spell casting. On a shelf, he spots an old brown cloak.

"You're awake."

Dean startles at the voice, whirling around. He winces in pain when he jolts. His left shoulder, he realizes, is wrapped and immobilized by a makeshift sling. It is the man he saw in the meadow, sans the cloak, with a bowl of liquid.

The man sets the bowl on a bedside table before touching the dressing. Dean draws back sharply, which earns him a reprimanding look.

"If I meant you harm, I would have done so before bringing you here, when you were still unconscious. So stop moving and let me tend to that shoulder."

Deciding that the stranger is telling the truth, Dean allows it but keeps a close watch on what the man is doing. Dexterous fingers dispense the bandages, showing experience in medicine, at least before he touches and prodds the flesh underneath.

The entire arm is black and blue and Dean winces as he looks. To distract himself from the discomfort of the examination, Dean focuses on the stranger's hands, which is feeling across the bone of his clavicle and his shoulder.

"You have big hands," Dean blurts out, once the man prods a particularly nasty looking bruise.

"The better to set your bones with," the man answers flatly. Dean is glad to have missed the entire bone-setting, just imagining the pain is enough to make him pass out.

Without the hood, Dean can see that the man is wearing simple fare if styled at least two decades past. He wears the clothes as though he barely put his mind to it, with the ties loose and haphazardly placed, shirtsleeves rolled up to bare his forearms used for labor.

The fellow wraps up the shoulder again with new swathes of cloth after he dresses a few scratches. Surprisingly, there are no marks that suggest he fought with a mythical creature.

"Battling a beast in his forest wasn't exactly a wise decision on your part."

What happened last night was definitely not a battle. More like Dean irritating the creature before he plunged to his death.

Dean clears his throat. "I'm sorry, _his_ forest?"

"Did you not wonder why the Silver Ash is named a covert and not a thicket nor a forest?" The man raises an eyebrow which causes Dean to focus on the stranger's eyes. They're still the deep blue he remembers from when they met at the field of yarrow, but they appear more weary. The man continues, "The Eyrie has been here even before your ancestors settled into the lands and wrestled it back from the forest nymphs."

"That doesn't mean he should take our children from us and eat us!" Dean protests.

The man laughs, and Dean glares at him because there is nothing remotely funny about eating children. The stranger attempts to speak several times before he dissolves into laughter. Once it finally peters out, he shakes his head.

"Sorry. It's just that, the accusation is absurd. Humans are barely skin and bones. There are enough deer and bears in the forest. Bears are a hearty meal if you know how to fell them."

"So what do you think has been taking the children? Wolves?"

"Is that why you've been going around the forest in that ridiculous cloak of yours, Little Red Riding Hood?" the man counters, offering the bowl he'd brought to Dean.

Dean spots his sword with his aforementioned cloak folded neatly at the edge of the bed. The cloak seems to have survived the journey better than Dean.

"And what's your name stranger? I've been running out of things to call you in my head. My name is Dean."

"Castiel," the man replies.

Dean frowns, thinking that the name must be from further north. It has the inflection of northerners, but he hasn't heard the name before. Castiel offers the dish to Dean again. Dean looks at the bowl suspiciously before Castiel sighs, takes a small sip from the outer rim then gives it back to Dean pointedly.

"You know, I wouldn't have wasted my time cleaning and bandaging your wounds just to kill you off."

"Speaking of which, how did I get here?" Dean asks, waving his hand around the room.

Castiel hesitates for a moment before he answers, "The shirdal carried you here."

"Shirdal?"

Castiel knits his brow and clarifies, "The lion-eagle."

"The griffin you mean," Dean corrects, wondering what the hell the griffin would have brought him here for. For a minute Dean wonders if the griffin had been about to kill him, not fly him off and hide him away in some mage's hut. "You're not his prisoner, are you?"

"Are you this inherently suspicious?" Castiel asks, and when Dean opens his mouth to agree, Castiel shakes his head. "No, I'm not held hostage here, and neither are you. You're welcome to climb down the mountain on that injured arm if you want; no one is stopping you."

The _mountain_? Dean promptly stands up, using his right arm for balance and darts towards the single door. Flinging it open confirms that they are high up in the mountain face. Someone built the house on the very lip of the cliff, on a ledge carved out ages ago by the elements, protected by a shelf of rock. There are a few trees on the escarpment, growing on the occasional breaks on the cliff's slope.

Dean would admire the view more if he didn't hate heights. The treetops that litter the landscape below his feet suggest that they are far above the ground. _What the hell?_ The only mountainous region near Chesterford is easily a couple of days walk from Silver Ash Covert.

"You can't tell me I'm not a prisoner if I can't _leave_!" Dean screams, hysteria bleeding through. He gestures to the entirety of the shelf they are in. "I need to get back home. Everyone is going to worry and send search parties. You tell your overgrown cat-pigeon to come and bring me down."

Castiel looks at him in assessment before asking, "So will he bring you down before or after he eats you?"

"Are you making fun of me?" Dean asks, narrowing his eyes at Castiel.

"I'll look for a means for you to reach your home before your arm heals if you could divulge information. I'm looking for someone who arrived or passed through your village twenty years ago. She's brown haired, dark eyes, largish nose, a bit rotund."

Chesterford is in the border of the kingdom, situated before the realm of the elves and the fairies. It was a forgotten village until the king arrived to take his dues for taxes to protect them from the bandits and the miscreants. It is for this reason that people are transitory, sometimes to find greener pastures, sometimes lured by the mysteries of the outside. So Dean can't possibly remember everyone that comes and goes. And besides, he was barely old enough to notice anything important in those days, the wolf taking up most of his young life.

"Why are you asking?" Dean inquires suspiciously.

Castiel looks grim. "To settle a debt."

oOo

Unfortunately for Dean, he _doesn't_ remember. So he is stuck with Castiel until his shoulder heals. Doubly unfortunate is the fact that while he is recuperating, there is nothing to do inside Castiel's house. Castiel putters around the cottage in the morning, brewing potions, and writing in a big book with his fancy calligraphy that Dean takes to be his grimoire.

Before the sunset though, Castiel casts his workstation into a pocket dimension, leaving the space bare. Before he leaves, he tells Dean that there is only one bed and he should feel welcome to it.

"And I would appreciate it if you didn't stab the protector of my home." As Castiel closes the door behind him, Dean wonders what the hell he is talking about.

Dean's question is answered when, in the cover of night, he hears the sound of wingbeats. There is a loud pecking at the door, followed by the massive griffin entering. The beast eyes Dean guardedly. Equally cautious, Dean scrambles up the bed, clutching his shoulder so he won't jar it too much.

The griffin yawns and fluffs its feathers and then claws at the floor near the hearth. It cocks its head to the side to give Dean a look before it folds its wings and curls in on itself. Dean eyes the beast wearily, noting that it largely tries to ignore him.

The cabin certainly felt spacious when occupied by two humans. Add a griffin to the mix, and the space rapidly shrunk down with the beast's wingspan alone. No wonder Castiel's door had been made wide, with a latch that is more lever rather than a usual knob, meant for dexterous fingers.

Dean watches the griffin, and tenses when it moves again. This time he tries to fluff his feathers, surprising Dean with the white underside to its wings. It tucks its head trying to pull its beak into its own plumes. Its hind paws are curled, like a cat cuddling, but the front claws are pulled up into its body. It sort of looks uncomfortable for Dean, but he isn't a bird-lion hybrid.

The griffin delivers a soft huff before it starts to peck at the area behind his neck futilely. Once several feathers have fallen, it caws and gives up, trying another position. It opens one eye, finds Dean, gives him what Dean thinks is a rather morose, but somehow accusatory, glare before he flaps his wings again. After a few minutes, the griffin tries to pluck at the feathers in the same area to no avail.

Curious, Dean stands up and investigates what the hell the griffin is doing. Finally, Dean notices a small lump between the two wing scapulae. The skin underneath is raw, and the plumage isn't laying flat. It is out of reach of the bluish-gray beak, and it looks like the griffin has been trying to get it for a while. It seems to be the source of the griffin's irritation.

"Look, if I remove this, you won't eat me, right?"

The quiet chirp that comes out of the eagle head surprises Dean. For such a large predator, the griffin has a high-pitched whistling squawk. Admittedly, it might be because the beast is doing what amounts to a whine. The griffin's eyes are blinking at him, pitifully. Dean finds his courage and walks closer.

Despite being reclined, the griffin is massive enough that Dean has to reach to touch its nape. Dean tentatively draws his hand across the area, which is covered in dark black feathers. This close, he can see the blue tinge of them. The wings flex and relax almost immediately. Emboldened by the lack of aggressive behavior, Dean feels around the fringes with more confidence.

Once Dean examines it closely, he finds a fragment of an arrow high up behind the nape, above the wings: a remnant of the arrow Dean had fired. The shaft with the fletching has long since broken off through the griffin's efforts, but it hasn't managed to dislodge the arrowhead. Now Dean understands the long-suffering glares and huffs that the bird was giving him. Dean takes a peek at the griffin, which gives him another pitiful whistle.

With a firm grip, Dean pulls the arrow's tip out with one yank. The griffin flaps its wings again, letting the empty cauldron sway, and the embers of the fire flare briefly before settling. Dean raises his good arm up in defense, but the griffin does nothing. It has one eye closed, and the other eye fixed on him.

"Ah, sorry about that," Dean mutters, returning to the bed made of bundled up rushes, enclosed in a thick quilt. "I really thought you were going for my throat."

The griffin produces a soft twitter, sinking and tucking its head back underneath its wings. Thoroughly dismissed by the beast, Dean tries to search for his own comfortable position.

oOo

When he wakes up, the pet guardian is long gone. Dean regards Castiel, who is putting out the fire and moving around doing whatever mage-y things that need attending, which thankfully, includes breakfast.

"Where do you go at night?" Dean asks curiously since he hasn't seen Castiel return until this morning.

"The griffin and I hunt for food," Castiel dutifully answers while ladling stew into a deep bowl for Dean.

Dean takes the proffered meal with less wariness, knowing that with no way down from the mountain, there is little he can do but trust Castiel. "Are you sure you can't bring me down the mountain?"

Castiel pauses from serving to look at Dean critically. "The reason your shoulder was dislocated was that you were brought here by the griffin. Of course, the landing was problematic because you were _firing_ at it, but he had to travel, carrying you with his claws grasping your arms." Dean senses the accusation in that sentence. Really, he isn't going to get over firing at the bird. "It is not ideal. You need your arm healthy before he can carry you."

Dean groans. Not only is he going out of his mind with boredom, but also because he is required to return to the barony.

"You manage to get up and down by your lonesome."

Castiel crooks a single finger, signaling Dean to follow. Once they are outside, Dean eyes the ledge they were on appraisingly. They are overlooking Silver Ash Covert, and the treetops that are wreathed with the early dawn fog makes a breathtaking sight. If it didn't signify that they were so high, Dean would have appreciated the view.

Castiel points out the crag, followed by a small path that looks like it could barely fit a person, much less someone like Dean.

Dean tracks the trail and winces. There are parts of the pass that demand both hands holding on to the cliff face, and the entire surface is steep. At the bottom of the crag is a scree, filled with broken rock that has accumulated from the mountain through the ages.

"I'd thank you kindly if you don't ruin my good work on your body by killing yourself attempting the climb. Suit yourself, though. I'll agonize over the amount of medicine I wasted on you."

"You're a regular ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Dean quips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was required to be polite to someone who shoots at..." Dean notes the break, certain that whatever words will follow was not Castiel's original choice of words, "...my companion."

"I already apologized!"

Castiel looks at him sharply, humming before answering, "We hold grudges very seriously up here at the Eyrie. Why, just last year my aunt cursed my father because he had forgotten to invite her to the naming ceremony of my nephew."

"Sounds like a hoot," Dean mutters under his breath.

Castiel gives Dean a perplexed look. "No, we describe my aunt's vocalizations as a high-pitched whistle. We reserve 'hooting' for owls." Castiel turns towards the cottage. "Don't be too worried, she just cursed my father to live in darkness for a few months. It served him right for practically locking her up the tower, anyway."

Dean doesn't know what the proper response for that should be. "Have I said your family is insane? I think I should point it out if you haven't realized yet."

Castiel waves his hand in dismissal. "I realized this when Aunt Amara cursed some princess over a spindle. A dashing prince has since woken her up."

None of this new information is reassuring. It is puzzling, though, with that much effortless power that it's the first time someone has noticed their family, with them being almost neighbors.

"Uh, why have I never heard anything about your people? Kingdoms should've been losing their minds over getting one of you as mages."

Castiel shakes his head. "We're reclusive here in the Eyrie. Besides, do you imagine that they'll brave the woods and then the mountains to seek an audience? They'd have probably died a quarter of the way into their quest. I'll see what I can do to alleviate your… _boredom_."

"I really do have to return. It's nearing the twentieth summer of the missing kids. If it's the same creature, they're going to try to take again this year," Dean tries to explain, half running after Castiel.

The mage turns to face him, and the abrupt stop almost has Dean toppling over the mage, his bound arm not doing his balance any favors.

"You have until Samhain to recover the children."

"What? How do you know that?" But that timeframe does give him a few months to try at least.

"I've been tracking that witch since she built her hut in these forests," the dark-haired man growls. He furrows his brows, then looks towards the silver ashwood that litters the surrounding lands. "She's been wily in keeping herself hidden from me, but during her last hunt we crossed paths and I managed to set her back. I've g fought with other creatures here, but I have yet to see her."

"A witch? I thought the griffin was doing it," Dean questions, looking nervously at the sky, wondering if Castiel's little pet was going to swoop and eat him for the affront.

When Dean looks back at Castiel, the man rolls his eyes as he crosses his arms in front of him.

"What part of, 'the griffin thinks you're bony and don't taste good' do you not understand? Witches love children because they're a delicacy. "

Castiel is really taking offense to the entire griffin eating the children accusation. Although, to be fair, he's repeated the theory several times and Castiel hasn't given a plausible explanation until now.

"How long have you been hunting this, again? Aren't you kinda guilty of stealing youth or something too?"

Castiel throws up his hands in exasperation. "I don't even know why I try reasoning with you. By nature, I am actually quite long-lived."

"I just wanted to confirm."

Castiel rolls his eyes again at Dean's statement.

"Careful, I hear that if you do it often enough your face is gonna get stuck like that."

The next eye-roll is very deliberately done. Dean laughs while clutching his arm, trying to stabilize his shoulder. He winces when the laughter jars it too much.

"I wonder why I even waste my medicines on you," Castiel mutters while he walks back to the house.

oOo

"ODRAZAM," Castiel commands in a voice that deepens his already low pitch. With it, the paraphernalia for sorcery that he keeps hidden away for the night so the griffin can come and roost is revealed, cluttering the space of the cottage.

Dean doesn't realize that he mouths the syllables along until he mutters, "ZAMRAN," and he promptly divests both himself and Castiel of their clothing. Dean steadies himself as a wave of fatigue hits him with the casting.

The blue-eyed man raises an eyebrow, although he seems largely unaffected by their lack of covering. Dean, on the other hand, has the grace to blush for the two of them. Both for the butchered incantation and the nudity.

In the village, Dean really didn't have the time to study spells. He was helping the hunters and training with the guards took precedence over learning hocus-pocus with the Men of Letters. Besides, he didn't want to memorize entire spellbooks when Sam was already doing enough of that. Except for the demon banishing exorcism, which was more a prayer than a spell, he trusted Sam to work with the sorcery so he could train with the swords. The few times that Dean did take up spellweaving, disasters like this happened.

"I can see why you haven't tried to leave the mountain with your spellwork," Castiel comments dryly while pulling his cloak from the peg behind the door.

Dean dons the red hood over his nakedness. He'll scrounge up another set of clothes somehow.

With a wave of his hand, Castiel writes the words on air with light. "Odzamran, from the root zamran, means to show or to appear. Zamran means to show yourselves. I'm sure this wasn't what the original casters meant."

Castiel approaches Dean, a look of impatience on his face as he eyes the crimson hood. He strips the bed of its linen and covers Dean with it.

"Take that ridiculous red monstrosity off and, repeat after me: Zimz." The language that Cas speaks is guttural, but the difference between the mage casting and the mage speaking is obvious. It is a command word, but when Castiel casts, it holds the sound of thunderclouds in his voice. "Come on, I know you understand what I'm asking."

Dean thinks Castiel has taken his reluctance for incompetence, and that wouldn't do. "ZIMZ."

A tugging begins at his heart, a warmth flowing, and when Dean looks down, the cloth is slowly curling around himself with white light. Dean closes his eyes against the brightness, and by the end, the magic has given him a jacket fit for royalty. It is draped with gold trimmings, tassels and embroidery on its sides with an undershirt of silk that contains ruffles peeking through the neck and the sleeves. The pants are cashmere and fitted, complete with bandages for his useless arm. Dean sits down after the effort, his vision tinged with some darkness at its periphery.

"That's excessive for a day inside the house," Castiel mutters as he looks at Dean. "It figures you're a peacock."

Dean splutters. He doesn't exactly control what the magic does. Despite the slight disdain in Castiel's voice at what he's produced, the mage starts to teach him Enochian words. It's the language Dean will later learn to be the mage's native tongue. Spellcasting with Castiel is both easier and harder than spellcasting with Sam and the Men of Letters.

The Men of Letters utilizes long convoluted invocations using dead languages mixed in with a ton of messed up ingredients you need a quest to obtain.

Castiel, on the other hand, has Enochian and commands the word into being. It also uses a part of himself, an inherent connection to magic, which Castiel calls grace. Castiel appraises Dean and says that the hunter doesn't have the same relationship with magic, but Dean does connect with his soul. It explains why he's tired when he casts.

Castiel reassures him that the soul won't suddenly be used up. The accompanying fatigue it gives Dean means he can only use the command words for a few and very important spells. At least, until he builds a tolerance for the drain of energy. Dean realizes he has a head for magic once the mage teaches him some of the incantations. Their magic is inherently different, but Castiel rolls with it and instructs him the best he can.

Dean likes to grumble to keep Castiel on his toes, but they cover a great deal of groundwork the following weeks. Even if it irritates Castiel that Dean's magic is complimentary, but isn't similar, he soldiers on.

"Humans and your complicated, complicated ways. Enochian spellcasting, unlike your human mages, need not follow a regimented formula. You build circles to contain it, and ingredients to entice it and focus your belief while giving it words to cajole it to being, but that's external magic. You have magic within _yourself_."

"Uh, if you're not human, what are you?" Dean asks.

The entire room is splotched with color. Castiel had tried to show him an illusion spell, Dean had ended up painting everything in sight with all manner of color.

"That shouldn't be your take away from this," Castiel reprimands, tapping his fingers against his sleeve and commanding the room, "ULS!" Using the word, the color-vomit that had been Dean's illusion flares a bright white and settles into the chamber's arrangement prior to the mishap.

Dean huffs. "Show off."

"Magic is a feeling deep in your soul." When Cas talks like this, it is easy to see that though he is somber in most things, he is passionate about magic. Cas loves teaching, the enthusiasm when he imparts the knowledge is only damped by Dean's lack of interest in learning beyond the basics. "But magic is also an unruly friend. You can request, in which case it could misinterpret you and you end up with this mess, or you could command and it will respect you."

Dean collapses on to his makeshift bed, lolling his head against the headboard and groans. "It's so tiring though. I don't know if I could even use this in a fight."

"It is the difference between your mages and mine. They make everything convoluted, but it isn't as physically taxing because they ask an external force to yield." Castiel pours water from a jug into a glass before setting it on the side table for Dean to drink. "I had to build enough resistance for casting before I could manage it without exhaustion."

After that, the days pass with far less boredom when Castiel teaches Dean spells. Although, learning the words doesn't necessarily mean that Dean can wield it. As it is, one or two already leave him weak.

Dean worries about going back to Chesterford due to the kidnappings. Despite Castiel's statement that the children are recoverable until Samhain, it is in Dean's nature to obsess.

Castiel consoles him with the fact that learning Enochian might give him an advantage. "Who knows, you might even succeed against her," Castiel reassures while looking at the current disaster of Dean's doing.

Dean is buried under a heap of clothes because he attempted to pull the red hood to him. It was done so that he wouldn't need to get up with his injured hand. In the aftermath, everything but the cloak answers the summons.

"Yeah, your confidence is very reassuring. I'm trying here."

Castiel picks up Dean's cloak, shakes it out then motions with his finger and commands, "NIIS." Dean's hood flies from Castiel's hand to pile on top of Dean. Castiel grimaces. "I don't need you to try, I need you to _become_."

"You didn't even realize I could do spells a month ago," Dean mutters and pulls the robe on top of his garish attire.

Once Castiel saw Dean could work magic, he stopped handing Dean shirts to wear and instead gave him fabric to cast a spell on. It is good practice, but no matter how Dean makes it, the garb turns out more formal than the ones he owns at home. Sam would laugh.

"Yes, and since you are what you are, it would be terribly remiss of me if I didn't polish your knowledge," Castiel retorts.

Dean is a man of action, he'd rather take his blade up and brawl than use a couple of commands to win his fight for him. Castiel clicks his tongue once and argues that magic is just another weapon. But with Dean, with his fatigue per spell, it doesn't seem worth it to depend on fireballs.

"I dunno, can't you teach me something useful, like fixing my bum shoulder?" Dean grouches rubbing his fist against the bruised appendage.

"Are you familiar with all the anatomical structures located in your shoulder?" Castiel asks seriously as he crosses over to the bed. The mage has been dutifully looking over the injury and making appropriate grunting noises since Dean was rescued by the griffin.

However, Castiel may have knowledge of healing potions, but he doesn't show finesse when examining his patient. It does give Dean time to look at his recuperating joint. The hunter has watched the ghastly purpling black bruises fade into a sickly greenish-yellow until only the faintest sallow mar the skin.

"No," Dean protests. Isn't it enough that he has to learn a bunch of words that make little sense and has too many consonants with a whole slew of weird inflections? Did he have to learn anatomy too?

"Then, no, I can't teach you how to heal your 'bum shoulder.'" Dean groans at the finality of the pronouncement. "I think we could start exercises to get the flexibility back in the joint by next week."

"Why can't you heal it?" Dean demands.

Castiel blinks as if the entire thought of healing Dean with his magic hasn't crossed his mind. Castiel looks at the bed that Dean is also using as a chair and a table, seeing as Castiel's house barely has any workable furniture. Even the bed is two bundles of hay covered with down feathers, which Castiel admits came from the griffin. "Vgeg means 'to grow.' The bales of hay were living things once, try to make them grow."

"Uh, sure, ugeg?" Dean winces at his accent, but Castiel only nods.

Because of the structure of Enochian and their different accents, Dean sometimes pronounces words differently. Castiel either lets it slide or corrects him depending on the meaning. Dean doesn't know how "grow" has any connection with healing, but the mage meanders before getting to his point from time to time. He helps Dean remove the sheet, before Dean sinks his fingers into the hay through the feathers, grasping the scratchy twigs. "UGEG."

The familiar heat flows from deep within Dean as his magic tries to follow his suggestion, permeating the twigs, cajoling something out of the dried grass. Castiel steps behind him and places both hands on Dean's shoulders murmuring "UGEGI."

Dean doesn't recognize what Cas is doing, but it feels like lightning passes through him. The magic from Cas zings from the point of contact on his shoulders exiting through his hands onto the twigs. Immediately, seems like Dean can do a hundred Enochian spells. The bed shudders until the small vines sprouting from the hay, crawling along the floor and reaching towards the window for the sun.

Dean admires the work, the easiest that he's done since Castiel had deigned to teach him a few words. With a big smile, he twists to share his excitement with his mentor, only to realize belatedly that Castiel is still gripping Dean's shoulders. They topple over in an ungraceful heap on the floor, with Castiel taking the brunt of the fall. But even the small jolt of pain can't stop Dean from smiling.

"Did you see? Did you see?"

A slight twitch on Cas lips betrays his amusement, with Cas steadying them by moving his hands towards Dean's waist. "Yes, yes. But what did you want to do?"

"Um…" Dean pauses, thinking back on the order and what he'd asked the magic to create. "To grow? Like a larger thing?"

"I'm beginning to understand why your spells are this much of an explosion. You need focus. It is not enough that you tell something to grow. You give it guidelines and rules. Did you want more hay in the bale or did you want it to be taller?" Sighing with exasperation, Castiel adds, "And I was envisioning a tree. Vines crawling out from hay is not what either of us expected."

"Okay?" Dean asks slowly, studying the trailing plants that are already withering back into the sticks of hay it had been. "Why are they doing that?"

"Because neither you nor I wanted it to be vines, therefore, the magic wasn't tethered strongly enough." Cas clears his throat before withdrawing his hands from Dean's waist, taking away the soft zing through Dean's skin. Dean thinks the charge must have been Castiel's grace. He kind of likes it.

Dean scrambles up awkwardly, one hand trying to steady himself into a sitting position while Cas looks strangely uncomfortable for the first time since they've been together. The tips of the mage's ears are red, and there's a pink tinge to his cheeks when he looks away.

"And that's why I can not heal you. We don't know how our magic will interact with each other and I'm not a trained healer outside of potions. It is not safe."

"It's also why you can't move me with Enochian," Dean realizes, glancing at Castiel for confirmation.

Castiel nods, but he still isn't looking at Dean. He turns to the bookshelf and holds out his hand. "NIIS!" he commands, and a large tome flies towards them and lands on his outstretched palm. Castiel opens the book in front of Dean, ignoring the entire mess that is his house. "All right, there exists no word for travel, but there is a command for 'move', and that is zacar. Repeat it.


	4. Chapter 3: Summons

**Chapter Three - Summons**

Castiel ignores whatever moment that has passed between them when they shared magic. Which is fine with Dean. Not talking about important things is something that Dean has practice in.

Dean does miss Castiel's sarcasm. They are alone in a house with no dividers; it's obvious when they're visibly _not_ talking about the elephant in the room. Even the griffin seems to sense whatever uneasiness has descended on the house. The beast has started to sleep _outside_ and no amount of cajoling from Dean will bring him in.

Dean also notices he's spending more time with the griffin than he's spending with Castiel. The creature previously didn't come in before dinner was well and over, but now he comes in early.

One day the griffin brings a baby bird into the house. For a moment it alarms Dean that the creature has _killed_ the bird and brought it home, but after further inspection, he notes that the bluejay is perfectly fine. The griffin is overly maternal towards it, tucking it underneath his wings and curling around it for warmth.

"So you rescued this little one, huh?" Dean asks, and the griffin answers using a small trill, with the tiny bird following. The next day though, there is no sign of the bluejay.

Later, he asks Castiel about it and the mage shrugs in reply. "Some fledglings get orphaned. We give them a home for the night and then send them to my brother Raphael." The Castiel of old would have given him a more detailed account, after of course, a heavy dose of sarcasm.

They barely talk and the atmosphere of the cottage continues to be awkward. It comes to a point that during the evening that Dean seeks the griffin's company. The beast swings its massive head around to look at Dean intently. Admittedly, it has taken Dean a few weeks getting used to that heavy high-arched beak close to him before he stops tensing when the eagle head focuses on him.

The griffin is lying on his side, with its legs bent and the tail swaying back and forth. As soon as Dean approaches, its tail tenses and curls closer to itself, twitching minutely before resting still. There are feathers that are littered around the creature, and a few that are at its beak.

Dean settles at an outcropping that forms a natural seat near the griffin. It cocks its head to the side and regards Dean slowly, blinking its eyes at him.

"So, are you ignoring me, too, or is it just your master who's being an ass? Because honestly, I have no one to talk to up here."

The creature makes a slight huff followed by a chirp, then it butts its head against Dean's uninjured shoulder which earns Dean's smile.

"Yeah, I know I have you. It's just that you're kinda non-verbal," Dean says, pulling up his hand to straighten the feathers the griffin has preened. It gives a contented sigh before it curls down with a half purr, half twitter and fluffs up its wings, a cloud of dust blowing away from it.

"Yeah, yeah ok." This is what he's come to talking to a bird. It butts his head against Dean's shoulder again, chirping, which earns it another smile. So although Castiel is slightly cold, his pet is apparently willing to communicate.

Basing on the little that Dean knows of Castiel, the mage would have continued with the current state of their interactions if they hadn't received a guest. Their guest is short, a full head shorter than Castiel, with a smirk that graces his features. He's dressed like a courtier on a whole day in court.

Castiel doesn't look impressed with their caller, but he acknowledges him with a nod, "Gabriel."

Gabriel nods back but focuses on Dean, the smirk blowing up into a wide grin. "Well, well, who do we have here? That red velvet tastes of power."

"If you touch the hood, I will punch you," Dean threatens the man when he comes closer. But the man doesn't seem to notice the warning as he is engrossed by the red velvet that is wrapped around Dean.

"Just a once-over?" Gabriel pleads, arm extended, already entranced by the cloak and whatever spells are imbued in it he can sense.

Despite one arm still incapacitated, Dean dodges the outstretched hand, twists around and goes under. He follows with a swift jab of his elbow up in retaliation. Because of the height, the blow lands squarely on Gabriel's nose.

Gabriel staggers for a few steps, groaning and covering his nose in the aftermath, glaring at Dean. Dean, on the other hand, rubs his shoulder while looking at Gabriel threateningly. A curl of brown hair flops over to cover Gabriel's eye to ruin the entire look.

"Cassie, I think he broke it," Gabriel whines pitifully, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off further bleeding. It wasn't straight before, but it could have been called regal in some circles. Now the bend would definitely be noticeable.

"He said he would punch you if you tried to get it," Castiel reminds the man dutifully, watching with mild amusement. It's good to know that Castiel will not take Gabriel's side even if they knew each other.

"But how was I gonna check the weird magic in it?" Gabriel complains again.

Castiel gives Dean a passing glance from the disheveled appearance to the bandages still wrapping his left arm. Despite the recent cold shoulder, Castiel surprises Dean by showing affection in that gaze before he turns the heavy weight of his glower to Gabriel.

"Like any magic, someone that he holds would threaten you."

"Hey!" Dean says indignantly.

"It's the principle of the thing!" Gabriel protests.

"I'll shove your principle down your lily white ass."

"You're slumming it with this ape!"

"Enough! I won't tolerate you insulting him." Dean's eyes widen at the statement. Cas does plenty of insulting daily. It is a good thing Dean's ego is what it is or he will get a complex. "Why are you here, Gabriel? I doubt it's because of the cloak."

"Dear old dad wants you to come up and observe some of the lionesses." Gabriel regards Dean again, still with curiosity in his features despite holding his nose gingerly. "I can see why you've not been seen in cou—"

"Yes, yes. Mostly it was actually because mother keeps foisting me off to different _women_." Castiel waves impatiently, but this time opening a small pouch which he stuffs an unbelievable amount of things in.

Dean can only gawk at the impossibility. Cas grimaces when he looks at Dean.

"There's stew enough for several days. Father won't need me for more than a day, two at best."

Cas is leaving him alone in the house? Dean hasn't been alone in this house since he was injured. Even in the evenings, he has the griffin for company.

"What if you forget about me? What if my food runs out? There isn't exactly an easy way off the mountain. And what about the griffin?"

"The griffin? Cassie, Cassie, Cassie, why haven't you—"

"Don't be melodramatic. In the unlikely event that I should die, Gabriel knows about you and can bring you safely home. _And_ you know the word for travel," Castiel says interrupting Gabriel again. He seems to be determined to interrupt whenever Gabriel speaks. "The griffin comes with me. He's my ride back home."

"You told me _not_ to use it yet," Dean accuses. His ability to command magic still worries the mage and Cas wants a few more days before they could finally test it to return to Chesterford. The hunter is hung up on being left alone, so it takes a while before the entirety of Castiel's statements sinks in. "Wait, what? What do you mean _die_? That's not exactly reassuring."

"Don't wait up!" Gabriel says cheerfully.

"Do nothing too foolish," Castiel instructs Dean, closing his impossible pouch and hooking it into his belt before he walks out the door.

"Wait, wait, what do you mean _die_?" Dean struggles to follow, but by the time he has the door unlatched and is outside, the only sign of their appearance is two griffins flying on the horizon.

oOo

The bells wake him: a loud tolling from Chesterford. Dean wipes his crusty eyes of sleep as he goes to the windows of the cottage, opening them to let the breeze in and to see out onto the horizon. Chesterford is some distance away, but apparently some magical contraption Castiel has in his house notifies him of the warning bells.

When Dean looks towards the village there are two dots that illuminate the night sky. This far, they are mere flickering specks, but the lights, coupled with the clanging can only mean one thing: children are missing again.

He grips the sill tightly and clenches his teeth. His time is running out.

Dean curses, unwrapping his left arm and rotates his shoulder to test it slowly. It is still sore, and it definitely only has a limited range of motion, but he will not go out into that forest with a single arm. He mourns the crossbow Cas tossed, but he can't even nock an arrow. Depending on his blade is for the best.

Once the weapon is strapped, he fits on his cloak. There is no time like the present to use Castiel's lessons. Keeping in mind that he can only use one or two, he steels himself before using, "ZACAR."

Instantly, he's puking on the dense woodland floor, but at least he isn't in Castiel's house anymore. Castiel cautioned Dean of its usage, especially with how magic was erratic when Dean wielded it. The mage didn't know how far it would fling him.

Dean takes in his surroundings, the twin pillars of mage-fire that was his village's warning system for the wolf blazes into the night, causing the nearby woods to be awash in the yellow-orange light. A few years ago, they thought it would have been an effective deterrent. Sadly, their current situation proves that their enemy is nothing if not determined.

The bells have long since stopped, but the mage-fire remain, both as a beacon and as a searchlight for their resident "wolf." The light will burn intensely for a few hours before dwindling down to less concentrated levels as the magic wears out. Which means that Dean should catch the witch before the spell runs its course.

In the early years when the wolf had hunted in Silver Ash, parents had sounded the alarm too late, thinking their children were out doing their chores. When they learned to be weary; the cycle wasn't noticed until the Men of Letters pointed out several recurrences. As humans were short-lived and considered prey by many supernatural creatures, the village didn't consider their adversary intelligent or insidious enough to bide its time.

But with Cas telling Dean that it's a witch, maybe they'll be able to catch her in the middle of her own hunt. Dean supposes that was the reason witches are hard to capture. They could be anyone and pretend to be anything. They're human. They're like everyone else.

A rustling in the thicket alerts him to the disturbance in the woods and between two bent trees, a cloaked woman with a struggling child emerges. The woman is dragging the boy across the underbrush, cursing loudly while the child uses all his strength to pull against her.

Dean sends a silent thank you to Castiel for teaching him the word "zacar" and sends another thank you to the annoyance that is his magic. It didn't bring him to the pyre which he thought of when he started the spell. It brought him to the reason the village lit the pyres in the first place.

Silently, Dean unsheathes his weapon. The metal was given to him by his father and he's wielded it since he was old enough to shift from wood to steel. The hilt is bone and a remnant of his time with the Hunters and their training. It is something of a coming of age with the Order to carve your own sword-hilt. The bone came from the first werewolf hunt he succeeded in, polished until the ridges were smooth. He depends on it now and he crouches low. Dean waits for an opportunity to ambush the witch, gripping the bone tightly, slowing his breath in anticipation.

He sees his chance once the child bites the witch's hand in an attempt to get away.

"Why you, you... Du verdammte ... annoying little... ooh Du kleine Scheißbengel—"

Dean leaps from his hiding place, charging the witch.

"Try someone your own size!" he yells, sword high to swing down on her neck trying to decapitate her. At the very least, he wants her disabled by severing something important. That's the thing about witches; they're difficult enough to kill because of the magic. But their wounds, despite looking fatal, barely incapacitate them unless it severs their head. So hunters always go for the head.

The woman pulls back and snarls. The sword glances her arm, opening a gash from her shoulder down to her elbow. In the attack, the young captive has fled into the darkness of the trees.

She whirls to face Dean and shrieks, "Rumpatur!" her hands extend into claws, thrusting towards the hunter.

Dean flies from the attacker, hitting the ash tree with a loud thump. She clutches at her side glaring murder at him.

Pain explodes from Dean's shoulder. He winces while he scrambles up. His heart beats harshly in his chest from both the throbbing joint and the exertion the short fight is taking on him.

"That fucking hurt, arsehole!"

The witch throws her head back and laughs at him, unencumbered by the wound. "Du Hurensohn!" she hisses. She pulls out a hex bag from her cloak to throw at him.

Dean brings up his sword to slash at the projectile, giving his opponent his most winning smile. "Now that's just rude. You can try cursing at me in English, it'll stick better."

There's a burst of silvery light from her hex bag, blinding Dean in its intensity, the strong smell of flowers permeating the area. Before he can blink out the white spots from his eyes, the air around them whirls with a sudden force, disturbing the foliage and scattering the dense underbrush into the wind. The sound of flapping wings is deafening, drowning out any chant that the witch is heaping at Dean.

If Dean wasn't in an enormous amount of pain from his shoulder that he suspects has been dislocated again, he would have kissed the ground the griffin will land on. The powerful wingbeats match the loud thrumming of his heart and Dean is grateful that the creature came because just a few moments fighting has taxed him.

"You again!" The witch howls, lifting her arm to protect her eyes from the debris swirling around them. She looks at the mythical beast and hunter then brings down her hands aggressively. The gesture releases a thick purple smoke that covers the area instantly.

Even the griffin is not immune to the gas, the beast emitting wheezing sounds and wings flap to clear the air, but it serves only to spread the smoke further.

Coughing, Dean struggles to stand up, attempting to follow when the massive tail of the griffin sweeps under his feet and trips him.

Dean curls on himself from the pain in his shoulder, tears bursting from his eyes. He glares up at the griffin from the ground.

"Wolf's teeth! You're letting her get _away_!" Not that the beast can see with the witch's trick hanging around them; the village mage-light has long since burned up.

The griffin lets out a small huff before it flaps its wings a few more times, finally able to clear some of the smoke. It produces a soft trill while Dean is still suffering on the floor. Impatient, the creature crouches, moving silently against the underbrush until it strikes its head behind a shrub. Once it straightens, it has a boy dangling by his upper shirt, hooked through its beak.

Dean eyes the runt from his position but decides that the griffin has a point. The child is more of a priority than the witch.

Being several feet off the ground and near the beak of an enormous large mythical creature scares the child. He wriggles out of his clothes to drop shirtless to the forest floor. The griffin tips its massive claw and covers the boy with it so that he won't escape before giving Dean a significant look. As significant a look that a giant bird can give.

Dean flops onto his back, mindful of his shoulder. He doesn't think he can move. At least, Dean thinks the beast was trying to make a point. It's difficult to interpret barbed looks when they're given by massive birds.

"It's all right." Dean tries to soothe, it is hampered by the fact that he is worn out and lying on the forest floor. "He's just trying to protect you from the old woman. We'll get you back home safely."

Danger over, the child is suddenly so overcome with emotion he starts squalling, large sobs that disturb the relative quiet.

Dean can already feel the impending headache. He turns his head towards the griffin. "I was gonna thank you, but was tripping me necessary?"

The griffin lets out a ear-splitting cry of indignation before it tilts its head to the side. After a few seconds, light emerges from the griffin's eyes. Blue flares across the entire forest bathing even its dark corners in brightness. The wings spread out until they become shadows and then the beast shrinks into the night air. Dean closes his eyes against the onslaught.

"What an unprecedented amount of trouble you run into when you're not being tended," says the familiar rough voice from where the griffin had started its light show.

Dean whips his head up to stare, finding Castiel enveloping the now hiccupping urchin in his arms. "So when were you going to tell me you transform into a beast that can't decide if it's a bird or a cat?"

Castiel is silent for a beat, blue eyes boring into Dean. "I was waiting for you to figure it out for yourself. Unfortunately, I may have overestimated your ability to discern subtle interactions."

"You should've told me." Every bit of indignation Dean is feeling laces his voice.

"And what new information would that have given you?"

"I would've ignored you as a griffin, too, for one!"

A fresh wave of sobbing breaks their squabble, and Dean looks at the child guiltily, before his accusing gaze focuses back on Castiel.

"Yeah, you couldn't have shifted into human _before_ you terrorized the tyke?"

"I apologize. Should I have done that before or after I was making sure the hag would not ambush us under the smoke cloud?" Cas asks acerbically, all the while rubbing slow circles on the boy's back, albeit somewhat awkwardly. His anger is emphasized by the rising tone of his voice. "Or maybe before I was saving you, yet again, from another one of your poor life choices?"

"You mean preventing me from going after an enemy? That's not a poor life choice!" Dean protests. "How d'you even see the boy?"

"I _heard_ the nestling through the bushes." Cas cocks his head to the side, which is surprisingly bird-like. In retrospect, Dean should have noticed the similarities between Cas and his 'pet.' The head-tilt alone was such a give away. "The witch and I have crossed paths before. She knew how to evade me effectively."

"You fought her twenty years ago." Dean realizes.

The one good thing about this is that they've broken their days-long silence.

"That's why there were feathers in Silver Ash with like… burns and stuff. You were fighting _her_. Yeah, I'm not moving. Apparently, I dislocated my shoulder again."

"An ungodly amount of trouble," Castiel says absentmindedly, reiterating his previous statement.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were a giant bird-cat thing," Dean mutters, head flopping back down on the forest floor.

"Well, I can't believe you used zacar before you planned to go hunting, but surprises go all around."


	5. Chapter 4: Chesterford

**Chapter Five - Chesterford**

Somehow, Dean and Cas travel back to Winchester Manor with Dean's throbbing shoulder. After the Order of Hunters tests him with holy water and silver, the family descends on him like they lost him for years instead of just a little over a month, recovering from his shoulder injury.

He accepts their worry sheepishly as his mother fusses over the bandages and the general dishevelment of his appearance. His father claps him once on his back with a grin. John Winchester isn't much for words, but Dean still beams back at the approval. Sam, the towering yeti he is at eighteen, is gangly and still not used to the growth spurt that adolescence has given him. He envelops Dean in a big hug, causing Dean to wince at the sudden bump to his shoulder.

They call guards to accompany Hansel, the boy they saved in the woods, for a hearty meal before sending him back to his family. Dean notes that his own family is in mourning clothes. He feels guilt over the fact that he's not only caused them enough grief for the entire hunt, but he's also forced them to mourn for him.

Castiel, who accompanied him home, watches from the sidelines unobtrusively until John focuses on him. Dean notices his father's attention and rushes to introduce them, "Dad, this is Castiel. Cas, John, Baron of Winchester, my mom, and this is Sammy. He saved my life." There is no mention of griffins.

"Castiel?" John sounds out the foreign name, and with his inherent suspicion comments, "That's an unusual name around these parts."

"I see with whom your son takes after," Castiel observes amused, and Dean recalls the first time that Cas noted Dean's suspicious nature. "My father hails from Schyreleah from the North, where the pass cuts through the mountains, and the sun warms the meadows."

"Shurley?" John repeats with a different accent than Cas'. "Castiel Shurley is an interesting name."

"No more interesting than John of Wyncestre," Castiel rebuts. It's good to see that Cas is every bit as dry when replying to his father as with Dean.

"Thank you for bringing our wayward son home!" Mary interjects loudly, strands of hair flying free from her long blonde braid when she pulls Castiel from John's inquisition.

She ushers them to the formal dining room. Black cloth fills the house, signs of grief not fully removed, and again Dean feels remorse for the worry he caused his family. Advance word reached the Manor from the Hunters when he and Cas arrived at the border of the town and Silver Ash. It gave the staff time to prepare the room for a simple dinner.

While Cas and John's first meeting was guarded, Cas and Sam take to each other well. One moment they are talking about grimoires and the next moment, Sam is interrogating Cas about his knowledge on the Men of Letters' magic.

Though the mage seems to practice Enochian spells exclusively, he is knowledgeable enough in Sam's brand of enchantments that they can talk about it extensively, ignoring Dean completely. It would have annoyed Dean, but he is pleased that Sam and Cas get along well.

Between a break in Sam and Castiel's conversation, Cas turns to Dean with one edge of his mouth upturned. "Cas, huh?"

Dean shifts in his chair and scratches the back of his neck unconsciously. It mortifies Dean. He hadn't realized he took the liberty. They've been avoiding each other for days and he suddenly goes about shortening the other man's name.

"Uh, I understand you might not think we're friends, but we've been in each other's pockets, you know. And you did dislocate my arm. You also didn't tell me about the big pet-that-isn't."

"You _shot_ at me. It was highly discomfiting because I couldn't reach it." It comes out both as petulant and accusing. Dean finds it charming. He has long since realized that Castiel's sass is worse than his bite. "You should be thankful you have an arm to _dislocate. _And that said pet has saved your life_. Twice!_"

"Aww, you'd miss my adorable face?"

"Yes, there's no one else in the entire seven isles that's this reckless. Being uniquely daft is something of an achievement in some circles."

"Look at you making friends while you're away from home," Sam teases when he notes the banter.

Dean sinks low in his seat and wishes that some otherworldly monster could pick a fight with him now. Sam is going to have a field day.

oOo

Thankfully for Dean, he has not dislocated his shoulder again. He just jarred it incredibly during the fight in Silver Ash Covert. Cas and the healer pronounce it safe to move, so Cas starts him on range of motion exercises to get strength and mobility back into his joint.

From the four-week immobilization, Dean feels his muscles are weak from disuse. The shoulder is still painful, but Cas guarantees him that with regular exercise it should decrease. Cas spells a large cloth for the injured man to pack over his shoulder after the exercises. It is blessedly cool enough that it helps decrease both the pain and the swelling.

Happy that he can move and he can return to hunting, Dean hopes that he'll find the witch soon.

Dean walks around Chesterford, paying attention to the orphans and the youngsters. Theirs is a small town, but with enough farms and shops to warrant the protection of a barony, filled with all manner of children. The hunter focuses on the most vulnerable of their youth.

While this happens, Castiel brings up his concerns about newcomers in the area. It frustrates him when they are close-lipped around him. Dean points Cas towards his mother since Mary is active in the village and talks to the women while John holds town hall meetings.

She obliges Castiel's inquiries with, "We remember the last wolf attack. The only newcomer then was Katja. But she's Dean's age, so she couldn't be who you're after."

"Dean's age?" Cas asks puzzled. "He was a child then?"

"Four or five summers that year," Mary confirms.

Hansel could only point out the general direction where the witch was bringing him. She took him while foraging juneberries on a walk to visit his grandmother. With not much to go on and the area being scoured for signs of the woman, they are rapidly running out of leads.

Unfortunately, after their encounter in the forest, their 'wolf' has gone to ground. And they have not spotted her since. As Dean's days dwindle into weeks with no sign of their adversary, the hunter gets upset at the smallest things. The only thing that can calm him is his time with his horse.

He brushes over Baby's black coat trying to find pleasure in caring for the mare. She was a gift that his father has nurtured and given to him at his coming of age. The black mare had an equally terrifying name attached to her when she was bought, but once Dean laid eyes on the Arabian with her big soft eyes, he fell in love. Dean gave her the nickname, and Baby she remains.

Despite keeping busy with Baby, thoughts about his failure on finding the witch still presses on his mind. The horse nickers softly, sensing his distress, and he nuzzles her nose in affection.

"Excuse me, I didn't mean to disturb," comes the low well-known voice of Cas from the entrance of the stable.

Dean pats the horse and turns to look at Cas, holding his gaze through the distance. "If I don't succeed in this, my father will pull me from this hunt. He already thinks all of this is dangerous. I _need_ to find the witch."

Cas hesitates before he walks closer to the stall where Dean is rubbing Baby's nose. "You don't need to carry this burden alone. I can help you find her."

A shaky smile starts at the corner of Dean's lips at the words. Despite living with each other for the short amount of time of his recuperation, because of the mage's sarcasm, Dean didn't realize that Cas cared. Not beyond Dean's physical wellbeing or getting him back to Chesterford after the injury forced the hunter on him.

"You're just about to tell me you'll return to your mountain."

Cas rolls his eyes. "There you go: assuming things about my person."

"Hey, Cas? Could you do me a favor?" The dark-haired man inclines his head. "I keep calling you Cas, but I've never heard you say my name."

Cas tilts his head to the side, seriously considering the request. Dean is thankful that the man doesn't disregard the wish as silly.

"It was Henry, wasn't it?"

"You ass. It's Dean."

Cas steps closer. When they were in the cottage, Dean assumed that the lack of personal space was because of the close quarters and worry over Dean's health. There is no such excuse now.

"Hello, Dean," He says it on an exhale, with his gruff voice lowered.

Dean takes another shaky breath as they watch each other. That isn't the way a friend says another friend's name. Baby's loud whinny breaks the moment and Dean steps back from the intense gaze of Castiel's blue eyes.

"Thanks, Cas."

oOo

To work off his frustration at the lack of results, Cas increases Dean's workload with his arm. He's started with calisthenics for the shoulder. Now, Cas adds weights by using wooden daggers. They practice basic training drills. When Sam watches, Castiel's ability to move so dexterously surprises him.

On one occasion, Cas has Dean lie down in the gardens, his left arm extended in the air. Cas looks at it in assessment, instructing the hunter to extend his arm and resist the motion. He then taps around Dean's forearm to improve the shoulder's stability.

Dean expresses his doubts to his brother that any of the light taps help with healing. The hunter makes the mistake of asking about it. Castiel tells him about dynamic stability exercises coupled with internal and external rotation which causes Dean's eyes to glaze. Now, they just continue with Enochian lessons while Castiel performs whatever maneuvers on Dean's joint.

The next breakthrough with their hunt appears in the form of Sam bounding through the courtyard where Cas supervises Dean's early morning exercises. He comes to an abrupt halt when he sees Cas hovering over Dean, who is rotating his shoulder in time with the mage's slow counting.

Sam clears his throat and the two jump apart almost immediately. Sam wishes his older brother would just admit to liking the mage so all the awkwardness over _innocent _hand touching would disappear. Even their father had comments on all the tension and he's usually emotionally oblivious.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"So get this," Sam starts, opening the heavy tome he'd brought, laying it in front of Dean. "I've been thinking over your encounter with the witch and I went back to the area, to the flowers you smelled? Crushed yarrow."

"Yeah, so?" Dean looks over the page about the flower, but not seeing the connection Sam is making.

"Yarrow is a common ingredient in human spellwork," Cas explains, reading over Dean's shoulder. "It doesn't narrow things down much, other than confirm that we are fighting with a witch."

Sam shifts from foot to foot vibrating with excitement. "That's the thing, I retrieved the hex bag from your fight. The magic burned through a lot of what was in it but I could finally name most of the ingredients and match it with a spell."

"And?" Dean asks impatiently looking at Sam.

Sam grins and points to the doorway. A young disgruntled boy with clothes far too big for his person walks through, holding his pants aloft with his hands so they don't slip. He drags his bare feet grumbling, "Brother, you better know how to turn me back."

Dean's eyes widen. "Benny?" The newcomer scowls but gives a grunt in confirmation. "You look…dewier."

Benny makes an obscene gesture with his thumb and forefinger while trying to keep his clothes together. Dean snaps around to look at Cas. "Damn, you were right. It's Katja."

"As much as I love hearing that phrase," Castiel's voice rumbles, forehead furrowed as he looks at Benny and the brothers. "I do not follow what's happening."

Dean jumps up from his seated position, crouching down to look at Benny who is scowling at him. He gestures to the boy before he grins

"Cas, meet my hunter buddy, Benny. We've been best buds since we were released from the schoolroom."

To Cas' credit, he puts two and two together. A bluish silvery light envelops Castiel while his eyes glow and mutters to himself, "That's why I haven't been able to track her lately. I've been hunting for the _wrong thing_."

Sam looks agape until he can't anymore and closes his eyes against the onslaught of grace. Once the flash is over and Sam blinks his eyes to clear the dark spots, he sees a massive griffin taking up the middle of their yard. Before it can fully extend its wings, Dean has thrown himself at it.

Tackling a beast that is larger than a shire horse is ill-conceived. Dean stumbles backward as he meets the immovable object of its front claws.

Sam prepares a short working of a spell when the eagle head bends down, expecting the worst. But Dean only scowls at the creature when it butts his head against one shoulder. "You were going to leave me. _Again_."

The griffin snorts, ruffling Dean's short auburn hair, and Sam swears that it rolls its eyes. After another light show, Castiel appears again, his arms crossed in front of himself and glaring at Dean.

"If I plan on doing anything stupid, I'll let you know."

"Not the point, I thought you were helping me with this? Not running around alone!"

"If I knew you would become such a needy pet, I would have left you in the ravine."

"Aww, when am I getting a collar?"

"You're incorrigible."

"Uh… guys?" Sam interrupts and the fighting pair turns to face him. Benny is cursing at the lot of them, sitting in one corner of grass to keep himself covered with the absurdly large clothes. "Focus."

Dean jumps up and laughs wildly. "I have a plan!"

"Is this the part where you run off in the middle of a supernatural being's territory, proclaiming a half-baked plan when you barely know what to do? Because, may I remind you, it worked so well the last time."

"Brother, where d'you pick up this guy? I've never seen Dean that red since Cassie Robinson left for the viscount's son," Benny stage whispers as Cas and Dean continue their bickering.


	6. Chapter 5: The Witch

**Chapter Six - The Witch**

It turns out, Dean's plan is equal to turning himself into another pre-pubescent kid and running around in the field with Benny. They've been doing it for the past week, and although Katja hasn't been seen, Dean remains hopeful.

His mother folds the red hood in a way that he could still use it despite his sudden decrease in size. After coming back empty-handed and hungry that first day, she sends him off the next few times with a wicker basket filled with small meats and two slices of apple pie for the trip.

Mary touches his nose fondly when he leaves. "Share your pie with Benny!"

John's exasperated, "he's not really a child," is heard as Dean skips through the town and follows the general direction of where they found the witch.

"I'mma bring this to grandma," Dean says cheerfully picking his way through the forest, sidestepping some of the traps he previously placed. Benny grumbles along with him but sneaks bread out to nibble on.

"You're overselling it," Sam mutters from underneath the cover of the trees. Cas in the form of a griffin, gives a huff that Sam takes as agreement. While they don't know which child Katja is targeting, she was foiled last week, so she is at least sure to snatch another soon.

Their persistence is rewarded when, on one of their walks, Cas perks up, alert, head moving towards an unseen noise in the distance. Cas narrows his eyes, but Sam waves him away, keeping an eye on their bait. Once Cas flies out, Sam focuses back on Dean and Benny who are meandering around the beaten path towards the deeper parts of Silver Ash.

One moment the two adolescents are arguing over berries, the next, they are slumped over in the middle of the field. Sam jumps out of his hiding place, holding out his staff which he'd enchanted with one long-range blast.

"Dean!"

"Rampatur!" Katja shouts from the covers of the trees, effectively separating Sam and his staff while throwing him into a tree.

"No, Sam. You've been keeping the children from me. No fair. So I will take these offerings you've clearly laid out. Tata!"

Sam shakes his head to clear it, but it's too late: Katja has already taken both boys.

oOo

Dean wakes up, tied to a chair, with the sound of chopping jarring him from sleep. His head is pounding with the beginnings of a headache, and the heat of the place doesn't help. Once he opens his eyes, he notes a large oven kindling in the corner and Katja preparing onions. Benny is tied similarly. Whatever Katja had given them is wearing off slowly.

"Hey grandma, what a big nose you have there," Dean mutters offhandedly to catch Katja's attention.

"I thought I'd have to look for a replacement for dear old Hansel," Katja grins pointing her knife at Benny, who glares at the witch. "I'd never dreamed you'd be stupid enough to come of your own volition."

While Katja attends to her spices, Benny looks down at the ropes, then at Katja. Dean assumes that means Benny will try to get free.

As a distraction, Dean shouts, "We gave you a home! The village took you in!"

Katja snorts as she sets aside the herbs and her freshly chopped onions, then turns towards the stove to stoke the fire. "I shouldn't even have been in this village if that _griffin_ hadn't interfered. _I _became too young. I can't work properly as a child."

"So the children are your fountain of youth?"

"I usually turn them to infants because they taste better. Consuming them gives me immortality. You are what you eat, you know," Katja answers cheerfully, feeling Dean's arms, then clucking. "Aww, you're so scrawny, we have to fatten you up."

Dean shakes his arm away from her as much as he can while being bound. "So why do it leading up to Samhain if you're eating them all, anyway?"

Katja shrugs. "I don't need to, but the spell is more potent that way."

"And the twenty years in between?"

"It'd be strange for a woman not to age in one spot. I rotate villages," Katja says nonchalantly.

That confirms the Men of Letters theory: she came to Chesterford and other villages to hunt but kept her den elsewhere. This way, it appeared she had few years between hunts, when she was terrorizing another town. The adults didn't realize the connection and the townsfolk would forget the warnings. By the time the Winchesters brought the Hunters into the picture, they had entered the age-long draught of the wolf because Cas had spelled Katja.

"Now… who's hungry?"

Before Katja could haul Benny towards the oven, Dean cries out "UGEG!" and the vines grow out from the rope, crawling towards Katja. Dean steals himself for the fatigue that sweeps over him.

"Du Gezücht eines schwanzlosen Schweines!" Katja curses and drops Benny, extending her arms towards Dean, throwing him against the wall and breaking his concentration.

Dean sees stars when he hits the bricks. The hurl kocks his shoulder as the spell takes its toll. "I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be cursing near children. We're impressionable, you know."

Katja stalks over to Dean. She picks the knife she'd been using for the vegetables brandishing it in front of her. Benny, finally free from the bindings due to Dean's spell, jumps on her back. It causes her to lose her grip on the weapon.

When Katja had flung Dean, parts of the chair broke on impact. The hunter-turned-boy uses this to his advantage to further loosen the ropes and gets his arms loose. Benny fully distracts Katja with kicks and screams, so Dean reaches around the floor to take her knife.

Once she flings Benny away, Dean rushes her and shoves the blade as deep into her body as he can. Benny opens the large stone oven motioning to Dean, and Dean forces Katja through. Both he and Benny manage to use the dining table to block the door and seal her in, her dying squeals, deafening.

Almost immediately, the smell of burned flesh affects them, which makes Dean gag. "I don't think I'm going to be able to eat roast pork anytime soon," Dean mutters, dry heaving over one of the pots.

oOo

Cas tracks them down because of the red hood. He looks at both Benny and Dean covered in soot and snaps out, "LOHOLO," which instantly cleans them. They still look like they just got out of their mother's apron strings, but at least they are cleaner.

"You want us to put rocks in the witch's deep fried belly and sink her into the river?" Dean is incredulous. He points to the stone oven and at the large fires. "No one survives a deep roast."

Cas shakes his head at Dean. "Trust me, I've seen a witch survive even a hunter's burial. Put rocks into her stomach and sink it in the river."

"What stomach? She's ashes!" Benny protests hysterically.

"Have you ever burned a body? She will not be merely _ashes._ Some charred outer covering will remain." Castiel looks at the greenish tinge of Dean and Benny's faces and shakes his head. "Fine, I'll do it if you're so queasy. I'll even do it downriver to the town. That way even if she revives three thousand centuries later like a gnarled log, she won't be able to swim up."

Castiel pauses as he goes back to the lift the table they used to prop the oven closed. "Well, unless someone dries up the river or diverts it or ... I don't know... global warming."

"I cannot even…" Dean sputters. "The world is not heating up."

"And the world is flat, brother," Benny chimes in.

Castiel shakes his head looking at the two. "Says you."


	7. Epilogue: The Prince

**EPILOGUE - the Prince**

There is a wingless griffin in the middle of their courtyard, flanked by two smaller winged ones. Dean would have panicked ages ago if Cas hadn't shown him his true form. As it was, he rushes down the steps to greet their guests and finds Castiel already attending to them.

"Uh, are your wings hidden?" Dean blurts out at the tableau. Uncomfortable situations made him babble. Great. Good to know.

The familiar swirl of blue light brightens before a woman with a severe countenance, her hair high in a rigid brown bun appears. She has an eyebrow raised at Castiel expectantly.

Cas clears his throat and bowing his head and motioning towards the Winchesters who have come running to see the commotion. Each of them bear a weapon and are at guard. "May I present the House of Wyncestre? The Baron, John and his wife Mary. With his two children, Dean and Samuel."

The woman glances over at the mage, but he keeps his head bowed low. She waves her hand at Gabriel, who is part of the convoy, instead. The short man steps forward, glances at Cas uneasily and says, "Naomi of Schyreleah, Daughter of the Moon and Stars, Queen of the Eyrie."

Dean's jaw drops and he studies the monarch in a different light. She isn't dressed regally. In fact, the clothes, like Castiel's, are dated a few years past. _What is a queen doing in the heart of Winchester Manor?_

He looks at his parents; his father is standing rigidly, but his mother has dropped into a deep curtsy, effectively hiding her blade beneath her skirts. She must have learned that back when she was part of the Clan Campbell before John stole her away.

"I see why you've been missing your summons, my son," Queen Naomi rebukes.

Dean stops to calibrate his thought process. _Son?_ He sees Sam and his parents mouthing the same thing. Dean shrugs, since it is news to him as well.

"Respectfully, mother, I don't think you see anything at all."

"Does this mean you will settle down and marry one lioness in the Eyrie? Hannah has been asking after you."

Before Castiel can respond, a winged griffin touches down between the two, instantly transforming to an unassuming, if frazzled, bearded man. Gabriel steps forward again to announce, "Charles of Schyreleah, Lord of the Sea and Skye, King of the Eyrie."

John looks like he is going to explode where he stands.

King Charles tries to get a word in edgewise, "Naomi, he said—"

"I know what he said!" Naomi turns to Dean and glares daggers at him. "When Castiel first laid his talons on you, he was lost! Now I can't even get him to marry because he's busy—"

"Mother, I'm not marrying _any_ of the wildcats, because, if you haven't noticed yet, I prefer wings." Naomi gasps in distress. "The competition during mating season is frankly, appalling. I want no part of it. I had hoped that you would figure it out by yourself…"

"But what about Hannah?"

"Mother. I am your _fifth_ son! You have Michael as the heir and Lucifer as spare and Gabriel toddles around after you. Surely you can proclaim either Raphael or Lucifer to marry Hannah? Samandriel is—"

"Samandriel is only a hundred years old!"

"Well, I wasn't going to suggest he _marry_ her! Consider that he might enjoy her company, mother."

"Your... Majesty, do you want refreshments? The journey must have been long and—" Mary interrupts, gesturing towards the dining room. She takes the sudden visit of mythical royal creatures in stride, bidding their staff with subtle gestures and a glare at Dean which promises a very lengthy talk.

John gives Dean a significant look at the new knowledge of Cas being a griffin. To Dean's defense, he just didn't know how to broach the subject.

Once inside the formal dining room, the argument continues. "Castiel, you need to get married. You're over a thousand already. And you're _nesting_. You built a complete cabin away from the palace," Naomi said in entreaty. "Eagles die of pining when they do not mate."

Castiel's lips are thin, annoyance shining through. Before Dean had spent time with Cas, Dean would have called it anger, now he knows it is mortification at his mother's meddling, carefully concealed. "Mother, I can settle for companionship."

"He is mortal, my son. You will pine for the rest of your days when he leaves." _This world,_ Dean can almost hear the words Naomi omitted.

"I would rather take the handful of years I'm given, mother," Castiel stares Dean in the eye despite the address. Dean suddenly can't breathe. He doesn't understand what is happening. Castiel continuous softly, "than live in your gilded cage."

There is a pregnant pause as everyone in the room watches Dean. He doesn't even realize that he is supposed to respond to that. "I don't have wings?" He offers weakly.

Gabriel snorts and Dean suspects that if Naomi didn't have such a firm control of her emotions she would have wailed. She does let out a suspiciously strangled moan. Charles, who was drinking from a goblet of wine that Mary served, trying to ignore the proceedings, says absentmindedly, "Castiel means he prefers men to women."

Castiel has grown red over the exchange, his fingers pinched over his nose. "We exhibit sexual dimorphism in the Eyrie. Female griffins are wingless but larger than males, presumably to protect the nest. Therefore, females are called lionesses, males are eagles and are winged. Raphael has treaties on it written somewhere if you want to peruse it."

"Uh, thank you?" The statement ends up sounding like a question as Dean frantically looks around to find Sam, who is covering his mouth to hide a smile. The traitor. Sam is entertained by the entire debacle. Once he has Dean's attention Sam jerks his head towards Cas.

When Dean looks at Cas, he finds the mage—the prince—has been staring at him. Dean quirks an eyebrow in question, and though the blue-eyed man is still pink from embarrassment, he holds Dean's gaze. Dean is sure there is an answer there somewhere that he isn't willing to parse yet.

The king clears his throat, which breaks the staring match. "Naomi, it's obvious that Castiel has imprinted. You're not going to win this one."

Naomi's eyes sharpen as she observes her son. Resigned, she focuses on the Winchesters. "Magic. Something valuable to your people. Some grimoire."

Stunned, John is silent before Mary elbows him. "Unacceptable. We need the grimoire to defend ourselves from the elves, should they attack. Your help when we hunt and we give you a part of our lands to the North."

"We already hold lands to the North!" Naomi protests. "It is not our fault your people _settled_ here. My son is a _prince_!"

"My son is the heir to a barony, a hunter, and can weave magic!" John thunders, his hand thumping against the table.

Dean feels light-headed. And also insulted. He is a baron's son and they are talking about exchanging him like a commodity. "Are you guys selling me?"

All the infighting grounds to a halt. Mary bites her lip in amusement. Sam looks like he is one guffaw short of rolling on the floor with laughter.

"Oh, good god, Castiel," Naomi waves her hand imperially over Dean. "Please attend to your human. I cannot believe you're marrying an imbecile."

"Just for that, I'm asking for two mages to come to live in Chesterford," John snarls.

"_Marrying_?" Dean stands up, toppling over a goblet. Naomi's irritation ratchets up.

Castiel is by his side at once, covering Dean's hand with his own. "I'm sorry about my mother. She has a sense of...entitlement. It comes with being queen for so long. I was telling you the truth though; I can settle for companionship."

_Companionship?_ Dean thinks, bewildered. He's gotten used to the mage, and thinking about it, he hasn't spent a single day without him for weeks. "Is that what you want?"

Castiel tilts his head to the side. "I want you any way you'll allow me to remain by your side. In any capacity that you'll have me."

"Wolf's breath," A grin finds its way to Dean while he looks at Cas. He recognizes the adoration buried between the sarcasm and sass. "You're sappy."

Gabriel grimaces while chewing on the pastries set before him. "You must work on him cursing using wolf expletives though. I know it's because they thought a wolf was feeding on your children, but it's silly. He can't be like that in court."

Castiel ignores his brother, focusing on Dean. "Dean, you haven't answered the question yet."

"You asked me something?" Dean teases while Cas guides him back to his chair holding his hand. Dean furrows his brows. "What? Did you get a word wrong?"

"I don't get words wrong," Castiel growls.

"Oh, okay then." The time that Dean is being deliberately obtuse can't last too long. Not if Cas spells it out. "Yeah, Cas. I'll marry you."

"Good." A sparkle of mischief lights Cas eyes before he continues, "then we can work on that ridiculous pronunciation of vgeg. Really, Dean—"

Dean shuts him up by leaning forward and kissing him.

_And they lived happily ever after._

* * *

_Fairy Tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us dragons can be beaten. _

_Coraline  
__**Neil Gaiman**_

* * *

**A/N:**

Tropes requested by Noxlee:  
Creature!cas (did that work? Or did it feel like Cas could just turn into a griffin XD egh; I wanted something other than a dragon, that had wings, cuz Cas is a winged being you know.)  
Alternate universe – fractured fairy tale  
Secret Royalty  
And **NOT** Friends to Lovers, (hence the… Enemies to lovers trope that I used instead. Did that work?)

I tried a retelling of Red Riding hood. Because for one thing, Beauty and the Beast has been so overdone. But then, it sorta ended up beauty and the beastish. And then Hansel and Gretelish (because of Katja). This could have a sequel that has a Psyche and Cupid element. You know, when Psyche was given impossible tasks by Aphrodite to prove her worth.

Fortunately, Sam and Dean have a hunt for us in the form of the Hansel and Gretel Story Line: About a Boy. While I have taken Katja (and how she inevitably died) from that story line (because Hello, Hansel and Gretel,) I hope this was unique enough and followed Red Riding Hood for it to be more Red Riding Hood than it was Hansel and Gretel.

I wanted this to be Cas' story actually. Sort of like a Sherezade retelling of Scoobynatural when Cas went to get married to the Djinn Queen and then he tells this fairy tale in the evening so the Djinn Queen doesn't gobble him up. Unfortunately, the main fairy tale that I chose was Red Riding Hood and that didn't naturally lend to Castiel's storyline. (Well it could have, Cas as a mage/red riding hood and Dean as a hunter/woodsman… but the story wouldn't nearly have been as long and there wouldn't have been enough Dean and Cas interaction from the beginning. Plus… canonically, Jensen has voiced over Jason Todd as Red Hood in _Batman: Under the Red Hood_ so it seemed appropriate.) What good storyline would you do as Sherezade?

I miss hearing the angel's wings when they fly. Cuz only Jack can fly now, but I still miss them wingbeats. I miss seeing Cas fly anywhere. Another weird sound thing that I should mention? The sounds you associate with eagles are actually hawks and not eagles. Eagles sound like small babies, and they twitter, they do not screech.

And because of the entire… ending. I impulse bought gold tickets to Jacksonville XD. Yep. Impulse bought gold tickets to Jacksonville. So heya whoever's going. Hit me up in the comments below. XD Also I was so depressed this week wasn't able to add more to this but I thoroughly enjoued this!


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